


Nihil: The Watcher

by algol_ardhanari



Series: Nihil [4]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/algol_ardhanari/pseuds/algol_ardhanari
Summary: A repository for side stories taking place during, before or after the plot of my project, Nihil. Think bonus scenes unlocked in a VN. I'll link to this from the main thing whenever relevant, and also mention where and when each story here is supposed to take place, for consistency's sake.
Series: Nihil [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153550
Kudos: 5





	1. Good Plans and Bad Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place on Saturday's Drop, starting approximately half an hour before Joshua and James arrive to the house, in the pre-route selection segment, in The Calm. Find the relevant chapter at https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172343/chapters/66364408

The wooden door creaks with the pressure of three people against it. The smallest, pressed directly against it, takes a deep breath. “On God, if you fucks doing this end up busting this fucking door down, I’m busting your faces next cause I’m _not_ paying for repairs.” The short red fox pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling the wood budge slightly.

“Hey, wasn’t this _your_ idea?” The red salamander directly behind him arches an eyebrow, pressed against the door behind Michael. “I mean, you had a key to the house and all…”

“Well—fuck you very much, Brett.” He groans. “Look, it was my idea to break into his house to give them a surprise when they arrive – hiding in the bathroom wasn’t part of it!”

“Ah…” The wood creaks again, as the heavy brown bear’s body shifts, pressing the salamander and fox together. “Hm… I can’t hear anything…”

Michael can hardly breathe. “S-stop pressing your fat ass against the door, Ty! It won’t hold!”

“Hey! I’m not _that_ fat…”

He _was_ rather bulky.

“Who gives a shit!? No door is going to hold the pressure of three whole ass people!”

Brett looks off into the distance. “Well, I guess one being so small makes up for the other one being so big…”

Michael pauses for a couple of seconds, an incredulous expression on his face. His hand shoots backwards, grabbing Brett directly by the groin, causing the man to yelp and jump. “Say some shit like that again and I’m twisting this crap off, got it?”

Even in that state of tension, Brett chuckles. “A-aha, but you’d have to—“

“I don’t give a shit if I have to dig into your slit to dig it out. I know how you salamanders tend to work down there.”

“Ah…” He grimaces. “Please don’t—“

The sound of a car approaching makes them all fall silent – wheels gliding against pavement. They all press against the door once more, pushing their ears against it. It grows louder.

Far too loud. And then it goes away. Probably a truck.

Through hushed whispers, Michael speaks. “…yep, not them. That bougie ass car the fucker drives doesn’t make that much noise.”

Tyler blinks a few times. “Oh, but it’s a few years old now…”

“Four years aren’t gonna make a hybrid become as loud as a truck, you know?”

“I guess that’s true… I don’t know a lot about cars. I’m sorry.”

Michael sighs. “It’s _fine_ , Ty. Jesus Christ.”

Brett shifts uncomfortably, making Tyler realize he was pressing his entire belly into the salamander’s back. “They shouldn’t be here yet, anyways, right?”

Michael replies. “Right. ETA is two hours after they leave. Takes an hour to get to Sudbury through the road he always uses, and there usually isn’t traffic on it.”

Brett pulls out his phone and looks at it. “And it’s been… like an hour and a half since he left, right?”

“Right.”

“I don’t think he’d stay there a lot – he probably just shoved James in the car and took off again…”

“Heh. Yeah, he probably _would_ want to manhandle him, the old slut.”

Joshua wasn’t that much older than them, even if he was the oldest and most dad-like of the group.

Something didn’t sit easy with Brett, however. “So, like…”

“Yeah?”

“Considering when they left, and assuming perfectly clear roads and him just arriving and leaving…”

“Your point?”

“Wouldn’t that mean they’d be arriving in a half hour?”

Michael doesn’t reply.

“Did you have us break into Josh’s house half an hour earlier just to hide in the bathroom?”

“…”

He takes a deep breath. Brett tries to look around, but there isn’t much to look at in the darkness. “I’m—I’m not wrong, am I?”

“Look, I’m not the brains of the group, alright?” He runs a hand over his hair. “Okay, like… _maybe_ I got us all here a bit too early. _Maybe_ I used the in-case-of-emergency key he gave us for something really dumb.”

Brett remains silent for a few seconds. “…but? There’s a but, right?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to think of one.”

Tyler is the next to speak. “Ah, I think Michael wanted to just hide behind the bar, but I’m the one that said we should go into the bathroom, because depending on the door they use to enter Joshua could probably see us crouching behind the bar… which means that this… would be… _my fault…_ ”

Even in the darkness, he can feel Michael and Brett slowly turn to look at him in a mix of disappointment and annoyance. He shrinks. “I-I’m sorry…”

Michael scoffs. “There’s the but.” Pause. “A big, thick one.”

Tyler moans in discontent. “S-stop, I’m trying to lose it…”

“No you ain’t.” He snorts. “Don’t bother, girls like ‘em thick nowadays.”

“…huh, is that so? Oh…”

A pause.

“…do boys like ‘em thick as well?”

“Yes.” An instinctual response from Michael, followed by confusion. “Wait, why the hell are you asking me that? Why are you interested?”

“O-oh, I just wanted to know…”

“ _Riiiiight._ ”

They sit in silence for a few moments, in darkness, standing by the door expectantly. “Locked in a bathroom that isn’t even mine in darkness” wasn’t a thought any of them had to fill out how the day would go, but that was what was happening anyways. Michael’s brilliant idea. And Tyler’s. Brett is innocent still. For now.

Michael starts growing bored. “…so, like, Ty?”

“Huh?”

“You write anything interesting lately?”

“Oh!” Even in complete darkness you can feel his face light up completely. He just has that kind of vibe. “Well, I’m researching and reporting on this Japanese RPG that is going to hit American shores in about a month, and it should come out in Canada pretty much at the same time! It’s been coming for some time, and there’s a lot of hype from the fans. Pretty fun to watch…”

“And I’m assuming you weren’t assigned that task just because, yeah?”

“Huh?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “I mean, you’re obviously way into that crap – Japanese games and shit. I check your blog and your articles sometimes and it’s basically all you write about.”

Brett pipes up. “Yeah! I check out your blog a bit and you talk about that a lot! Well, that and like, also anime and music from there.”

Tyler blushes. “O-oh… I guess I _do_ talk about that stuff a lot…”

Michael chuckles. “C’mon, big open secret that you’re a huge fucking nerd. Doesn’t really surprise any of us by this point, bud.”

“Hm… Yeah, there’s some people here in the west that like that stuff a lot, and I’m one of them…” A pause. “I… don’t know if it’s the same in your country, Michael…”

He takes a deep breath. “It’s as much my country as it is yours, Ty. I’ve never been there.” The second generation Korean immigrant shifts his weight. “Sure, my parents raised me knowing the language, and I have Kimchi with basically every meal, but I don’t feel I’m really Korean. _Really_ Korean, if that makes any sense.”

Brett puts his hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Hey… you’re more Korean than all of us put together, at least! That’s got to count for something.” He has a way of trying to cheer people up. It doesn’t always work.

Michael snorts, then starts laughing. “Of course I am, bud, but that’s not really an achievement. You’re so Canadian you don’t have blood but maple syrup and snow, _eh?_ ” He chuckles to himself, and the comment draws a chuckle out of Brett. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not something that I feel bad over or some shit. It’s just the reality of my situation.”

Tyler pipes up. “H-hey, we could have a day where we all eat something Korean together! That’d be nice!”

Michael scoffs. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do, but do you remember what happened last time you tried to eat Kimchi?”

“Oh…”

“You damn near threw up in my toilet.”

“I mean… there’s got to be something in that cuisine softer on the palate, right? Less… fermented?”

Michael laughs. “So fucking Canadian…”

His laughter dies down as he starts sniffling. Before anyone can get the impression that he’s crying, he takes a deep breath, craning his head around to look behind himself. “…the fuck’s that?”

Brett stiffens up. “Wasn’t me. He who smelt it dealt it.”

“Not—that’s not what I mean, you idiot! It smells like…”

It hits Brett next, and he takes a deep breath before coughing. “Agh, fuck! That’s—“

“Rotting meat, right?”

Tyler stiffens up next. “R-r-rotting meat?”

“Don’t—“ Michael groans. “Don’t do that shit now, Ty! Obviously Joshua didn’t kill someone and put them here or some shit!” Or, at least, he hoped that wasn’t the case. “It’s… fuck, is the smell backing up from the pipes or some shit? That’s disgusting!”

“No, how could it?” Brett looks around, futilely, trying to find the source of the smell. “Like, why would the smell of rotting flesh come up through the sewage? That’d be weird, right?”

“I don’t fucking know, man, maybe something crawled into the pipes and died there?”

“With how well Joshua locks everything down in this house? I really doubt anything could get in, so…”

Finally, it hits Tyler, and he gags. “Oh… that’s really strong…”

“Crap.” Brett looks at Tyler, trying to make out his features in the darkness. “I’m used to it because sometimes I work the meat aisle, but you don’t even cook, do you?”

“Ugh… I’ll be alright, just…” He’s already looking around, trying to find the toilet—

“You’re not fucking vomiting in his toilet! Hold it in or something!” Michael is growing impatient.

“I’m sorry…”

“For God’s sake, will you stop—“

The sound of a car makes them all quiet down and momentarily forget the disgust they’re feeling. They press against the door – smooth gliding on the pavement, a quiet engine, and then the garage doors opening. They’re here. They didn’t discuss the plan that far ahead, so they don’t know what to do once Joshua and James enter the house, but surely just bursting out of the bathroom once they’re in ought to do the trick, right?

The garage doors close and the engine shuts off. Two sets of footsteps walk into the house, one heavier than the other, as two voices discuss – one youthful and a bit airy, the other a deep, deadpan baritone. They stand in the middle of the living room, in front of the bathroom. A perfect opportunity. Through the slight cracks of light that enter the room, Michael waves at the two men behind him to catch their attention, then holds up five fingers. Then, he puts one down. Four. Three. Two—

Tyler yelps slightly. That distracts Michael. It surely also catches the attention of Joshua, as one of the voices goes completely silent and seems to turn towards the door. Michael’s eyes go wide. Tyler misinterprets the cue. He puts the hand on the doorknob and turns, not realizing he’s still resting his full weight on the door and his friends.

Out of the door and into the light come out stumbling three people, the two larger ones crushing the smaller one with their weight and frames. Michael wriggles under their bodies. “Agh! Fuck! Get the fuck off! Ty! Dude!”

…

* * *

The surprise was a disaster, but what followed after went well enough. Michael can’t complain much as he walks back to his apartment, satisfied with how the events unfolded. It doesn’t take very long for him to arrive, even if he’s going by foot. Once he’s in, he’s sure that all the others have already left Joshua’s house, surely leaving Joshua and James alone. Spicy.

Michael opens the door to his apartment, walks in, locks it behind himself, and throws himself upon the couch, turning on the TV. He whips out his phone as the sound of some local news cast fills the room. Time to bully. He whips up Tyler’s contact info and shoots him a message;

‘hey’  
‘nice surprise back there bro’

It doesn’t take long for a reply to arrive.

‘I’m sorryyyyyyyy’  
‘I didn’t know what was happening and just opened the door cause it was all that came to mind orz’

Michael chuckles.

‘classic’  
‘its w/e’  
‘dude was happy anyways so i cant complain muhc’  
‘much’  
‘whyd u yelp tho’

He locks his phone and puts it on his muscular chest while looking at the TV. A weather report, it seems. What’s the point of doing those weather reports if it’s spring so it’s just gonna be “cold, but not snowing”?

His phone vibrates, and he blinks a few times at the message.

‘I felt something grabbed me’

What?

‘Like a hand with long claws on my back trying to grab at me’  
‘I don’t know what happened I just felt claws on me sorta sinking into my back’

That’s bizarre. How does he even reply to that?

‘is the game ur reporting on a horror game or some shit’  
‘or are u just fantasizin abt joshuas big predator claws’  
‘snip snip bitch’

How else is he supposed to handle it besides jokes? He just hopes Tyler isn’t serious about that.

The reply doesn’t take long to come.

‘Stoppppppppp >_<’  
‘I don’t think he’d even look at me that way Michael’

A few moments pass.

‘Besides I have a girlfriend!’

Michael laughs.

‘sure u do bud’  
‘took u forever 2 remember that lmoa’

He locks his phone up again as it starts to vibrate – surely Tyler retorting. If he didn’t want to get bullied, he should simply stop being so fun to bully.

The news report changes to talk about a new case of kidnapping in the area. A little boy, a hyena, disappeared around the area of the town Michael lives in. He looks at it for a few moments before changing the channel in frustration. Deep breaths. No use thinking about that now.


	2. Filth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This side story takes place a few years in the past. To be read after the events of Thursday's Bleeding Wounds, in Joshua's route, The Melancholy / The Calvary. Find the relevant chapter at https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207326/chapters/73482603

2013.

Summer.

The young lion walks out of the bank, holding an envelope containing money. There’s nothing on his mind besides disappointment in himself. He’d done every step of the way correctly – graduating from the best university in his country, with an admirable degree in engineering, finding job offers in foreign countries that could take him, applying for a job, going through the interview process in a language he still didn’t feel confident in, and succeeding, purely out of his passion and intelligence. All things he’d done to help his family back home, who definitely could use the cash – so that his mother could buy herself nice things, and so that it’d be easier to pay for his little brother’s school, and, in a few years, his tuition. Maybe they’d even be able to move into a nicer house. Maybe they’d be able to put his little bro in a nicer school. Maybe he’d get into a good private university – or maybe he’d pass the stringent admission exam and enter his own alma mater. Big hopes for the future, from the moment he set foot outside the plane. Breathing in the biting cold air, colder even than his city, far colder than anywhere in his country – a freezer when compared to the little town he grew up in before moving to the city.

And now, one month after that, he was now holding his severance pay. And it was an absolute pittance. There was absolutely no hope of sending money back home with this amount of cash on hand – hell, he couldn’t even afford his own rent, or to buy groceries. Rent in Toronto was stupidly expensive. He didn’t realize rent could go that high – but he had to move there because that was where the company that hired him was headquartered, and they promised the salary he’d be paid would _easily_ cover rent and expenses and he’d have cash left over. They were right, and if things had shaken out differently, he’d be holding a heavier paycheck, and he wouldn’t have this horrible pit in his stomach, of not knowing what to do.

With this amount of money, he could afford to keep a roof over his head, or he could afford to eat for the rest of the month, but not both.

Or he could afford a plane ticket, to pack all his things up, return home, look his mother in the face, and tell her that he failed at keeping his job because his depression caught up to him, and that he’d have to live off of her salary for a bit longer while he found a different job – back home, because he surely couldn’t afford to leave the country again, chasing a stupid dream.

He leans against the walls of the bank and buries his face in his hands. Of course, his mental illness had to flare up right as he’d gotten there. He’d gotten his list of assignments, and he knew how to do them, but looking at the wall of tasks – despite knowing how to do them and how to schedule – felt insurmountable. He blanked. Hard. His pace of work suffered greatly, and after a bit he stopped eating, then he stopped going to work, then he stopped getting up from bed at all. And now, all he had to show for his collapse was being fired, and getting severance pay for what little work he did manage to do.

Shameful. He isn’t sure what to do. It feels like the world is crumbling around him. Even the fact that Toronto’s summer weather is similar to his home city’s regular weather seems to be mocking him, telling him that he’ll return to that soon. He leans back on the wall and weighs his options – not like there’s much in the way of options for him to weigh. He’s hungry as well. He can’t go and order something quickly, he has to rely on what little food he has in his tiny fridge back in his apartment.

…

No part of this situation looks good.

…

Among the bustling activity of the big city, he notices someone approaching him. It’s a sharply dressed man – probably a coyote. Not many of those back home. Handsome. Smells nice, is wearing sunglasses… and is holding a small camcorder in his hand, aimed directly at him.

Bright yellow eyes stare directly at the camera as he approaches, behind the frame of cheap glasses. The camera pans down, to his cheap black tank top, his cheap jeans, and his cheap black boots. “…can I help you?” He meekly speaks, in a voice that still hasn’t finished developing, not confident in the language.

“Oh, I think I can help _you._ ” The coyote peers at him above the frame of his glasses, winking at him. He notices the camera is recording. What is happening?

“…what do you mean?” He’s getting nervous. Is this just something that happens in the big city in the first world?

“That’s a pretty thin envelope you’re holding in your hand, young man.” He’s older. He sounds older for sure. “Is that your paycheck?”

“Um, yes…”

“Are you sure? Or did you just get fired? It sounds like you got fired. Is that your severance pay?”

“My _severance_ pay, yes.” He struggles a bit with the word and his accent comes out.

“Oh, a foreigner? I’m guessing… Latin America?”

He nods slowly.

“Hey, relax. I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, I feel I have an offer that may help you a fair bit. But, first, I need to know your age. Do you have any legal document you can show me?”

He blinks a couple of times. He pockets the envelope and pulls his wallet out of his other pocket – a cheap model, that has certainly seen better days, and is almost empty. “Um… I don’t have any Canadian papers here, but…” He pulls out a small card from it. “This is the legal document of my country.” He holds it out for the man to see. “There is my date of birth.”

Awkward phrasing, and that accent. Definitely a foreigner. The man pans the camera over the document – and the other man covers some of the very critical info with his fingertip. Two given names, two surnames, and the whole thing is in Spanish. “J… A…” He stumbles over what it says. “I have no idea how to pronounce your name, so I’m not gonna do it, just so I don’t offend.” The camera pans over the birthdate. “I have no idea what month this is, but that year looks good. Twenty-two, right?”

“Yes.”

The camera pans over his photo on the document, then at him. “An ugly photo, but that’s definitely you, too.” The young man puts away his document. “Looking a bit plain in the face department, but we can work with that. Your beard hasn’t finished growing in completely, but what you do have there looks great. I’m going to assume you’re growing out your mane and it’s at an awkward point between being so long that it gets in your eyes, but not long enough to be tied back. And this…” The camera pans down to his body, and he feels seen. “You definitely work out. You’ve got some nice tone going on in your muscles, even if you’re obviously still young… oh, yes…” The man holding the camcorder licks his lips.

He feels… odd. Being looked at like that feels incredibly bizarre. He’s starting to get an idea for what the older man wants to do, but it’s still odd. He’s hooked up with a few guys in the past, but this feels different. It feels like… he’s being looked at like a piece of meat at the market. Dehumanizing. And he doesn’t think he likes it.

“Well…” The man moves closer to him and holds the camera aimed at them, together. He’s taller than him, slightly. That usually doesn’t happen. The man pulls some money out of his pocket with his free hand and gingerly puts it against the stretch of his fur that’s exposed on his chest – right next to his black crucifix necklace. His fingers rub against his muscle. It feels impure. It’s a hundred dollars. “How about we go to my apartment and have some fun on camera? And you can keep this money and some more.”

His eyes go wide, and he looks at the man. Then, at the money pressed against his chest. Then, at the camera. And he’s speechless.

…

About three hours after that, he isn’t thinking anymore. He’s face down on a comfortable couch, somewhere inside an expensive high-rise apartment, his tail limp against his back, completely naked, and with his ass up in the air. Sore. All he can really focus on at the moment is the way warm liquid is running down his thigh. He feels it. But everything else feels blurry.

The last therapist he talked to called it dissociation. He is hardly blinking or breathing, hardly thinking, and his body doesn’t feel like it’s his own. He can’t focus his eyesight. He doesn’t want to think.

“Hey, are you alright, kid? I said we’re done.”

The voice calling out to him snaps him back to reality, and all that happened comes back to him. He said yes to the man’s offer. He stepped in an expensive car, in the passenger-side door, as he asked him more questions about his life – where he came from, how much money he needed, what he was willing to do on camera. He didn’t know how to answer most of it. He heard something about people liking Latinos like him, for some reason or another, but it didn’t fully register.

They parked in the parking lot of an expensive-looking apartment building, and they went up an expensive-looking elevator, entering an expensive-looking apartment. He’d never been anywhere so expensive in his whole life, and he felt a bit starstruck. Who was this guy?

He sat down at the couch, with the camcorder still on him, and he was asked a few more questions. Then, the man asked him to take off his tank top, and offered him some money. He just stared at it, not knowing how to react. The man pulled out more money.

Slowly, he complied. He asked to touch his muscles, and paid money. He asked him to flex, and paid money. He asked him to take off his pants, and paid money. He commented on his underwear, and paid money. He started touching him, and paid money. He told him to drop on his knees, unzip his pants, and…

And…

And the rest of the afternoon was a blur. But they did a lot of things. And it was all recorded.

He slowly stands, not wanting to sit on the couch, for fear of staining it and because of how sore he is. He clears his throat.

“That went well.” The man pulls up his underwear, the closed camcorder resting on a nearby table. “It isn’t every day that you meet someone so eager to please, that will do so many things on camera.”

He nods slowly. It _was_ a lot of things. He didn’t remember half of it. But he wasn’t forced into it.

“Eager bottom, aren’t you?” The man chuckles.

He wasn’t a bottom. He hardly bottomed at all. He shakes his head.

“Huh, but you took this monster all the way to the hilt without complaining and let me breed you.”

And it hurt. But he powered through the pain, even as the man got wilder with it. He didn’t know that it could feel so good to take it up the ass…

Feeling good. After all of the things they’d done, he just felt… filthy. Wasn’t this prostitution? He’d just had sex on camera for money and he was paid for every act. That had to be prostitution. Or was it just pornography? Was he a prostitute now? He was… filthy. He felt filthy. It was filth.

Filth.

The man slowly nods. “I get it. I know why you’re being all quiet with me.” He wipes his hands on the younger guy’s fur. “Wait here. You’re dirty enough as it is, so a bit of lube on your arms won’t kill you.” And he leaves.

He comes back, and drops some money on the table, and the young man’s jaw drops. “I…”

“It’s yours. For a job so well done.”

He timidly grabs the amount of money on the table, counting it. It’s all hundred dollar bills. It’s a lot of money. It’s more money than he’s ever seen in one place at any given point in time. It’s easily enough to cover his rent and food, send money back home, _and_ still have some left over… and it was all a single day’s work.

“Seems like someone’s happy.”

He puts the money back on the table. “Um… thank you.” He bows.

The man chuckles. “No, thank _you._ That was one of the best fucks I’ve had in a long time.” He stretches his lower back. “People like you are hard to come by. You’ve got some real talent with your mouth and your ass. I’m out there scouting people to break them into the industry, and I feel I just struck gold.”

The industry…?

“Well, what do you say? Do you want me to hook you into my studio, so you can film more smut and make even more cash than that?”

He falls silent. On one hand, it was a lot of money, but… he also felt incredibly dirty having done that. “…no, thank you.”

“Oh?”

“I will try to find a new job. This was all the money I needed. Thank you.” He clears his throat.

“Huh, alright. But if you’re ever interested, you know where to find me. Memorize the address – I’m here all day on weekends, in case you need additional convincing. This vid we recorded is going to make a lot of cash on my website, too, so I’ll be glad to have you back.” The coyote pats his shoulder.

His stomach growls.

“Jesus. Go take a shower then eat something nice.” He chuckles, as he sits on the couch, opens the camcorder, and starts reviewing the footage, slowly rubbing his bulge through his underwear.

The young man goes to the shower and gets cleaned up. It takes a while. The older man shot very deep inside him, but after a while, he’s clean. Physically.

He gets dressed, grabs the money, hides it well, and bids him farewell, and he leaves, intending to never return. That night, he looks up job offers nearby that may take his degree.

…

The very next week, he’s knocking on the same door again. The job hunt was terribly unsuccessful. Of course, the coyote welcomes him with open arms. But he’s got a friend now.

And he returns the week after. And the one after that. And after some time he starts going more often than just weekly. And he takes him up on his offer, and gets signed to his studio, receiving a fake name. And he buys some contact lenses to appear on their videos, because he doesn’t want to be so easily identified – one of the most expensive purchases he’s made in his life. And he starts making more money, because of his willingness to do pretty much anything on film. And he makes a social media profile for it. And he starts buying nice things for himself, like better clothing and better glasses. And he realizes the rent in Toronto is stupidly expensive and he doesn’t actually have to live there for work. And he starts bulking up, upon a suggestion by the studio he’s signed to. And he signs with even more studios after that, and his schedule is packed. And he’s told about this little town, a bit further north, where there’s a bunch of really nice houses, cheap for the price, that he could move to. And he does, and he starts changing the rooms to film porn in. And he gets more job offers, but he eventually makes his own fanpage and starts making money on his own terms. And he meets other industry veterans, and his fame and reputation grows – that of Adam Garcia, the blue eyed, black maned Latin meal. And now he’s a fixture of the industry, and he has a stable source of a lot of income. And he gets more, when he starts getting offers to dance. And he teaches himself stripping and pole dancing, and even installs a pole in his house to practice. And he’s told about the escorting business, and he takes that too.

And the money keeps coming. And the love keeps coming. And he goes viral on social media. And he’s safe. And Adam Garcia is beloved. And he travels often, doing a job he realizes he enjoys, keeping his new group of friends happy with regular trips, and sending money back home, to a mother that now lives in a better house and a little brother that is now studying in his same university.

And he is set for life.

And the feeling of filth never washes off.

And he is forever filthy, mentally. And every new dick he takes, and every new dick he sucks, and every new ass he fucks, and every dollar bill he takes when stripping, and every successful gig, and every new client, and every new movie, and every new subscriber to his fanpage, and every whip upon his skin, and every drop of hot wax of him, and every pint of men’s bodily fluids that he takes for work, and every bruise, and every burn, and every fetish garment he buys, and every regular STD test, and every off day where he recovers, and every collaboration, and every fake word that leaves the lips of his fake personality, and everything he receives money for – they’re all thorns upon his side, and are filthy.

And he is marked for life.


End file.
